Stinks 'n' Finks!

It's a very smelly—some say sexy—Blind Vice in the boudoir this Friday! Plus, Miley Cyrus has a rich and powerful frenemy in town, so unusual here, I know. Oh, and Jessica Alba stuffs her pretty face, jealous?

Does everybody want to be Simon Cowell? Brit Spears’ maybe manager Larry Rudolph is making competing little girls cry on Rock the Cradle and, just like Simon, seems awfully proud of himself. Be sure to add Demi Moore’s little baby Rumer Willis to the growing crowd of rip-‘em-to-shreds shriekers.

Disclaimer: I fully realize this column has more than its share of potty-mouthed pokings at celebs who aren’t exactly dressing or doing their best, but...I was going to write some pathetic excuse here, but it sounded as lame as Paula’s glove collection, so never mind. Suffice it to say, Rumer’s now joining the ranks of karma-challenging gutter mouths such as yours truly.

See, over at Orso, Demi’s eldest just met a bunch of young agent types for “dinner.”

I quote the normally sustenance-equipped activity because R had none. Sustenance, that is. At all. She sipped a Diet Coke and opted for the lung-cancer special (which Orso offers to patio diners, exclusively), i.e., chain-smoking. In between puffs, Rumer, who’s famous for I know not what besides being the strong-jawed offspring of two famous hotheads, sniped with the table full of junior agent types. Don’t think she was overly impressed, as R texted on her iPhone frantically throughout the dinner. Except when she was ragging on Miley Cyrus, a gal who—last I checked—has a modicum of well-known appeal.

According to Desk Eavesdrop (sitting right next to Rumer, who was described as a “sickly size 0” but wearing a pretty black skirt and sweater), Ms. W showed off pics she’d taken of Billy Ray’s daughter at a Hollywood event. “Oh,” the snotty Willis chums snarled in unison, “what’s she like?”

“You know,” Rumer smirked on her rather large noggin’ (tho it’s not “nearly the potato head it is in photographs,” insists Desk E), “she’s...Miley Cyrus!” At which point the entire table became an adjectival feeding frenzy led by Daughter Dearest. Among the more choice phrasings reserved for Disney’s megateen by Willis & Co.:

“She’s such a bitch.” “So fake.” “Annoying.” “No talent.” “Can’t believe Hannah Montana has taken off like it has.”

Uh, look, Rumer, and your bloodthirsty cronies, wouldn’t go around dissing a multibillion-dollar crowd-pleaser like that if I were you—that is, unless you had something more real to offer. Do you write, darling? Do you sing? Do you appear in anything besides canceled Golden Globes shows and your 'rents-arranged flicks?

Why are all of my stone-hurling critics coming to mind? What’s going on with this friggin’ destroy-at-all-costs mentality these days, huh? Like, what the hell’s up with folks like Simon, with his drooping man breasts inside those limp T-shirts, eviscerating a fab chick like Carly Smithson for her supposed lack of star style?

Don’t like Miley and her admittedly cutesy self, Rumer? Go out and do something else better, why doncha? I mean, something other than stellar suicidal habits, that is.

Jessica Alba brought her bump over to Miracle Mile’s Luna Park for some late-night delights with a g-friend. Guess Jess needed to satisfy some midnight cravings she couldn’t get rid of. I’m surprised she left her house to get her own damn food. Hell, isn’t that’s what a baby daddy’s for? The threesome (foursome, I guess, since Alby’s eating for two dined on spinach salads, salmon, mac and cheese and blueberry shortcakes. J.A. was très quiet and reserved. If delicious blueberry desserts can't smack a smile on Jessy-babe’s face, nothing will. Down the block in a less to-be-seen scene...

Macy Gray having a meeting at the Black Dog sandwich shop on Wilshire. Seriously, ya couldn’t meet at the Ivy or something? It's come to settling for an offbeat coffee-and-sandwich place? The strange-sounding singer wore an acid-flashback-inducing colorful top, which didn’t stand out as much as her giant head of high hair. M.G. was getting a career pep talk from two Industry types who kept volleying ideas back and forth, barely letting the notorious singer get a word in edgewise. When May-babe did open her mouth, most folks present swear they couldn’t comprehend one single word. The Swedish Chef from the Muppets is more articulate than this mumble-mouthed musician. In the skies, enjoying the maxed mile-high life was...

Janet Jackson flying to Tokyo on United, first class. Like you expected otherwise? (This ain’t the Jackson with money problems.) Security surrounded the star so no one could get a gander at her back-to-hot bod, but all onboard eyes swear she was beautiful. Just wait till J2 lands in Japan—no one’s pretty after a 17-hour flight.

Oh, dear. Unless you've got a very imaginative (and open-minded) bent for things in the bedroom, wouldn't even bother with today's Blind Vice tale about Super Duper Cooper, who's really pushing it with how he selects his mattress conquests. And check out his erect desktop, babes!